Resolutions
by hey-torch
Summary: I asked for resolutions. A New Year's resolution, a promise to make at the beginning of the year and attempt to keep throughout. Assuming, always assuming, you had a whole year ahead of you...


A/N: I love RENT (movie and play though i've never been to the play on broadway.). I love writing fics. Hear's an idea! Mix it together. I'd have loaded this back when it first came to me which was a while ago, but I'm stupid and didn't know where/if there was a RENT category. Found it! It's my first RENT fic but I demand honesty however brutal it need be!

**Summary: What happens almost immediately after it ends. You know the deal : She's dead :( Thank God she's alive :) . This is afterwards. Told, of course, from the eyes of the self procaliamed Witness. Doomed to be the eternal observer.**

**Disclaimer: RENT and all characters involved therein are the beautiful creation of the late Jonathan** **Larson.**

I knew.

We all did.

That night in the loft; Christmas Eve. We basked in the miracle. Allowed ourselves to indulge in the relief and happiness of hearing her voice again. Hearing it after what definitely appeared to be her last moments. But even as we let the smiles set in our faces and the laughter to escape our lungs, we all knew.

The knowledge loomed in our thoughts. Lingered in our eyes when we looked to one another. The four of us, understanding yet not voicing to the couple what it was. What they surely knew as well.

True the moment hadn't been the last, but it was not far off. It wouldn't be long. She didn't have long.

How long exactly? Obviously nobody could know for sure. Myself, I'm not proud to admit I doubted she'd make it until morning. I kept this to myself. Didn't mention to anyone; least of all Roger.

But she proved me wrong.

She made it through the night to Christmas morning. She made it through the day. Another night. Another.

During this time, my camera rolls.

Capturing the six of us together. Out time spent mostly at the café and the park, which she loved so much, when we weren't in the loft. Enjoying all of it. Just being there together. Knowing it'd be no time at all before she lost the strength and capability to leave the loft at all. My camera rolls. With each scene, each passing frame, her change becomes more noticeable.

Thinner. Paler. Weaker.

We pretended not to notice. The way the weight rapidly left her already thin form. The way her coughs shook her so completely. Spontaneous episodes of shivering she did her best to tone down in front of us. How it took more and more time and strength to do the simplest of tasks. We never said a word. Our eyes said everything. Each time I looked at Maureen, Joanne, or Collins, their eyes said the same thing. Mirroring, I'm sure, what they saw in mine. It wasn't often in Roger's. He seemed so focused on what she did or said or needed or wanted. Only on making her happy and comfortable. So focused that he scarcely spared a moment to allow the pain to reach his eyes.

About a week later, she was hardly able to cross a room on her own without losing all energy and breath. Sometimes it was just rising to her feet that seemed to fatigue her. Yes, that Christmas Eve she'd gone to the hospital. But all they were able to offer was to "...do our best to make her comfortable." She refused to stay a second longer than necessary. So she came home. It was painful to see, even if we were pretending it was nothing. Especially knowing how vibrant she'd been. Energetic. Never really wanting to stand still. Whether she was bouncing in place at Maureen's infamous performance or spontaneously grabbing Angel's hand and dancing for no reason other than simply to dance.

New Year's Eve came.

A holiday, exactly one year in the past, that had been celebrated with the seven of us in Time's Square. Shouting, drinking, laughing, dancing. When New Year's Eve 1990 came, the remaining six of us knew it wouldn't happen again like that. Not with all of us, anyway. She couldn't do it. We knew. Even worse: we knew she knew. She hated it. It wasn't a secret how it tore at her to not be able to go out; lose her independence. Not be the free spirit we knew her to be. That night especially. That night of all nights, someone like her wasn't meant to be trapped.

Joanne, Collins, and I happily agreed to Maureen's suggestion: A surprise. Knowing how much she hated being stuck inside. Might have hated even more the fact that he wanted to stay in with her to make it ok. Despite her encouraging him to celebrate and have all the fun he could. We told him about it.

That night, he brought her to the roof. Having to all but carry her, and for all we know he had but she would never have admitted being so dependent. When they arrived, the sight of us waiting, noise makers and champagne - lots of champagne - in hand, brought shining tears of happiness to her sunken brown eyes.

Once again, it was a night of pretending. We didn't notice that once she'd sat down on his lap she didn't rise again. Nobody saw how heavily, so, so heavily, she leaned against him. Too busy to pay attention to how very, very little she drank though we were sure to get her favorite, knowing when she actually had an appetite, whatever went down never stayed. We didn't notice. It was a celebration.

The camera rarely left the two of them that night. Sure, I made a point to get everybody, of course. Even ended up in front of it myself when Maureen, once again, managed to commandeer the camera from me. But it always came back to them. Then, as I had the previous year, I asked for resolutions. A New Year's Resolution; a promise to make at the beginning of the year and attempt to keep throughout. Assuming, always assuming, you had a whole year ahead of you.

The camera came to them, asking for their year's promise. There was an awkward silence; the laughing stopped. I realized right away it wasn't the best or smartest thing to do. I did it out of pure habit. I was sure the others thought it was just as stupid as I had. Roger's smile fell and a painful curtain of sorrow draped over his eyes. There was the look.

"My resolution," she broke the silence, "is kinda private this year." she answered, managing to trail her hand up and down his chest once suggestively.

The sudden heaviness in the mood wasn't lost on her. She knew what we were all thinking. So…a joke. A small joke to lighten things again. There were laughs -because it was funny or because we wanted the moment to disappear? - along with an applause from Collins and a loud whooping noise of approval from Maureen. She then smiled at the lens that still faced her. I refrain from wincing, thinking how it almost looks unnatural on her paling, disappearing face.

She then silently turned from the camera to the man whose lap she'd been resting on while he sat in an old lawn chair. There was a quiet moment captured on film, the two of them just looking at each other before she lay her head down against his chest.

I mentally kick myself a thousand times in a thousand places, as I'm sure the others would have like to actually do for me. I hadn't meant to, but, thankfully, she'd handled it very well. Playing off the seriousness that crashed the party. There were no promises to be made. Neither of them wanted resolutions or promises anyway. An idiot could know what they wanted. But what only Collins and I knew, was how often and how desperately, how painfully, it was asked for.

Neither of the girls were at the loft deep into the night. The didn't know what happened at night. They didn't hear the sounds she made at night. Not that they'd ever really woken us. The second night after that beautiful, painful Christmas Eve, Collins came home late while I was still up, working at the projector. We spoke , while I continued my work. It was when I finally finished for the night and turned it off we came upon it for the first time.

Coming through the thin walls of the room they shared. They were quiet, painful noises. Whimpers and gasps and sobs she only let Roger hear. I doubted she even would've let him if she could help it. But after that, I came to discover, it was every night. I slept lighter and lighter as time passed, hearing it each time. And his response was always the same.

"I love you." he say. "One more day. Just one more day. Please just another day." he'd beg her quietly. "I love you."

These were heard by the two of us, and we knew it wouldn't keep working. But still we said nothing. As if saying it out loud would make it more painful to endure.

Midnight came and we shouted and kissed and toasted it's arrival. We could hear the celebrations in the street below and see the fireworks shoot up into the sky above before exploding, shimmering down gracefully to Earth. The tense minutes of earlier that night were completely forgotten as our miniature celebration reached its peak and wound down. She'd seen midnight and happily ushered in the newest year, but she was tired. We hadn't noticed how often she'd dozed off against him.

Hugs and kisses and Maureen and Joanne were taking off, Collins not far behind, to continue celebrating into the night. She bid them goodnights and a happy new year as they did. They each made sure to say they loved her. No reason. Just because . I declined the invitation to come along, choosing instead to edit and splice some sequences of film together before going to sleep myself.

Some hours later, I woke with a strange feeling in my stomach. A cold, an intense, sickening chill, deep in my gut. It made me nauseous to the point where I thought I was actually about to throw up right in my bed. But I didn't. Glasses on, I quietly moved through the dark apartment. Regretfully, having the thought that I already knew what it was before I reached my destination.

Completely silent. Still as night air, I stood outside the door. I could hear it again. Her. Those awful sounds. After a second, for some reason, I cracked the door slightly. Just enough to see.

Shadows. Silhouettes.

A quiet gasp from within. Then his voice. Soft. Comforting. Saying it was ok. It was going to be alright.

I wasn't able to see much in the darkness. The moonlight that seeped in through the bedroom window offering just enough illumination to make out the two forms on the bed.

Lying close as possible. Holding one another as tight as they were capable. Which I knew , remembering a hug she'd given me not long ago, couldn't have been much on her part. How light and meek her grip had been. Barely more noticeable than breeze against my skin. Her small, frail body was writhing painfully in his arms. Those sounds.

There's a selfish moment I consider grabbing my camera. I dismissed it bitterly, disgusted that it even came to me; knowing I was already intruding on something that wasn't mine to see. A moment I wasn't meant to be part of. But I didn't leave. I didn't move away, nor did I make my presence known to them.

Her voice is hardly audible as she attempts to speak to him between the sounds. "Ro - Roger." it stuttered out painfully.

"Shh…" I could hear him reply to her struggled speech. "I've got you." I'm sure he holds her a little tighter, a little closer, at this point. "You're gonna be ok."

The shaking in his voice, the desperation; he wants it to be true. Wants another miracle to keep her with him longer. Just a little longer. But I think he knows. Think he has that same cold feeling. Warning him of what's to come. What's to happen tonight. Did the other's feel it, too? Wherever they were at the moment. Did they know like I knew?

"Roger." his name again; her voice having a little more strength and emotion. She's forcing; fighting.

"Please." softly. "Don't worry. You'll be ok."

He wants to believe his own words. He doesn't want to be a liar. But he knows. God does he know. All that time…on the streets, off her meds, had done too much irreversible damage. Allowed the invisible enemy to ravage her body, claiming silent victory. Shortening what time she had left so significantly.

"I love…" my own breathing stops at this point, as I listen to her voice. Listen to the struggle for each ragged breath interrupt her words. Just three words. Three words that can't be said without that interruption. "…love you." she finally finished.

"I love you, too." his own voice, though barely above a whisper, so much emotion. "I love you, too." Again, this time she started the coughing. Loud, rough, painful heaves that make my own throat and chest ache just hearing them. "Stay." he pleaded, as if she had anymore a say in it than he or I did. But again he said it. "Stay."

She wants to stay.

She wants to stay and hold him and live with him and love him. It's no mystery. She so desperately wants to stay. But…God, what needs to be said?

"One more day." he begged. A chant; a mantra I've heard from him so many times by now. "Just one more day." This makes me wonder where Collins is. How much longer until he comes home or if he'll even come home that night. "Another day." I hear him say again. "Please, just another day."

He knows what I know. The agonizing truth cutting him apart like jagged glass shards in his stomach. There are no more days. No more. A life, once so bright and colorful; so beautiful and so just plain lively, came down to this. "I love you. Please…_please_, one day." No more days. Her life. A life measured in minutes. Measured in moments.

There's a few seconds more of the uneven breathing before the sound is replaced by the unmistakable one of her gasping. Horrified, painful, desperate gasping; reaching for air that refused to come to her. This is when I look to the floor and close my eyes. The sounds; quiet, yet so deafening in the darkness.

"Mimi." his voice is loud enough to make out, but still lost in the midst of the sound. Fearfully. Tearfully. So much emotion wrapped in one word. So much of him in that one word. Again, louder now. Terrified. "Mimi."

No songs this time. Just desperation. Two people clinging to one another as long as they can. As long as they're allowed. My eyes are squeezed as tight as they'll go, to the point of hurting but it doesn't make me stop. I keep squeezing. His voice. Her sounds. But I can't move. I can't make myself leave or even close the door that will muffle it slightly.

Two more. Two more heart wrenching gasps. Two more sounds. Two more efforts to breathe . Two more. Only two more….then nothing. Then silence.

I feel a burning weight in my chest and realized I hadn't really taken a breath since getting to that spot. Air calls to me. But I don't want it just yet. I just want to wait; give the miracle a chance to happen again. Who knows? Maybe. I figure he's doing the same thing. He's waiting for the miracle.

Until I hear a new sound. A quiet sobbing. Not hers. It'd never be hers again.

Now I let the air in. I open my eyes and force them to look up. I can still make out the two on the bed. But I know there's only one there now. See the man clutching to her shape. Silent now. No longer twisting and contorting in the pain. Still. His face is buried in her neck, muffling the sounds that escape him.

This is where my mind tells me to turn around. As quietly as I came, I should leave. Not to go in. Don't go in. But I push the door wider, making myself known. Why? Stupid. He lifts his head quickly, looking in my direction. What do I say? What should someone say in the situation?

Seeing your best friend, who's been through so much, lose the woman he loves. Not for the first time. But this was different than April. April did it herself. Ended on her own. He didn't hold her as she slipped away. Didn't feel how much she wanted to stay with him. Didn't beg her to stay.

I knew I needed to say something. Say something. Make it seem like I've just arrived there. Not let him know I've been listening the whole time. I heard everything. What should I say?

"Is she…" I trailed off. Bad choice. Stupid. A stupid question. Why couldn't I think of something better. Why did my mouth open before I thought at all? Stupid.

"Yeah." he answered anyway. Even though I didn't finish, the question was an obvious one.

"Should….Should I call somebody?" Maybe Joanne and Maureen are back at their place by now. Does he know hot to get a hold of her family? I can't remember her ever mentioning anything about them to me. But maybe him.

"No." he said, sniffling and clearing his throat before beginning again. "Just, um, in the morning." he finished. "In the morning."

I don't mention it technically is morning. I just nod and finally back out of the doorway, pulling it closed behind me as I go.

I look at the clock.

3:54 a.m.

Almost four hours into the new year.

Almost.

I know I won't sleep anymore that night. How could I? Instead, I inspect the projector. Make sure it's still in the best condition. Perfect working order.

It's going to be running a lot more after tonight.

Who knows when it'll stop?

_**A/N: alright...moment of truth...let me have it.**_


End file.
